In the Absence of Baseball

Rather than effortlessly writing daily articles about a never-ending stream of topics, I now sit at my desk, struggling to find words that readers may find interesting, if not important. Instead of baseball games playing on TV, my living room is now filled with sitcoms that I pay no attention to, or news that I can’t seem to ignore.

I should be hearing names like Javier Baez, Christian Yelich and Mike Trout, but instead, I hear about all the unpleasantries that are now part of everyday life.

An Idle Mind

I tune out the latest coronavirus news while somehow still paying attention. Then, the other night, my attention suddenly turned solidly to the local news. I live about 45 miles southwest of Springfield, Missouri, so there really isn’t much “big news.”

They were reporting a story about a police officer being shot and killed. He’d responded to a call about gunshots and was shot dead through a plate glass window at a gas station. His partner was shot, but survived. A total of five, including the gunman, were killed.

I spent a lot of years as a paramedic, so these stories always hit hard. That officer deserves to be recognized, but had there been baseball, I’d probably have never known.

The Past Comes to Life

In the absence of baseball, I think about my dad. The years he spent teaching me to play. The money he spent taking me to games. The time he took to manage my Little League teams.

The memories are so filled with life, but then I realize he’s still gone forever.

I think about the days – any days – when I was young and would wind up in a baseball game full of neighborhood kids. No organization, just whoever showed up. Some days we’d have to make hits to right field an automatic out, as we didn’t have enough kids to play. Other days, we’d have to divide innings up because there were 25 of us there.

We’ve all grown now, all gone our own separate ways. I’ll bet it’s been 30 years since I’ve talked to any of them, but I remember those games.

Certainly, I don’t mind the happier memories, but in the absence of baseball, I find myself suddenly immersed in a world for which baseball was my escape.

This afternoon, my son had a police scanner on in his room. I overheard, “Greene County to R-52.” There was silence. “Greene County to R-52.” No reply. “Final call for R-52.” Immediately, I knew what this was about. It’s called a roll call. The radio silence was because they were calling the officer who’d been killed two days ago. This is something police departments do to acknowledge they’ve lost one of their own. His silence, when called, signifies his death. It’s always followed by an announcement that the officer has gone 10-8; the end of his watch. Forever.

In the Meantime…

Until baseball returns, I guess my mind will just continue to wander. It’ll go back and for the between happy times from my past and a world that’s turned ugly.

I’ll look for topics you’ll enjoy, things that you want to read, but some days it’s going to be hit and miss.

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